robin's not sick
by daddybats
Summary: dick insists he's not sick, but alfred and bruce are having none of it. / daddy bats.


"PPPXXTCHHH"

"That's the 19th time in thirty minutes, Dick," Bruce said briefly glancing at the boy perched unsteadily above him.

"I'm not sick," he returned, "and you've been counting?"

"Yes,"

"It's just a sniff-PPTHTUCHH,"

"I know, Dick," Bruce acknowledged, "It's just a sniffle that has manifested itself into a full blown cold within the last hour or so."

"Something like that," Dick mumbled.

Bruce chuckled at the boy's story. It must've been the 4th time, and he has yet to change a single detail.

"Before you go take a nap in your room, ask Alfred for something for colds," Bruce ordered, watching as the young boy tried to gracefully remove himself from his perch, but he instead landed like a parrot missing a leg.

"Fine," Dick grumbled, "but I'm not sick."

"I know," Bruce assured as he nudged him towards the exit, "now get going."

Bruce resumed his work, assuming that Dick had enough strength the walk the 32 steps to the entrance of the Manor, but Dick's labored breathing soon beckoned from the cave walls. He was wrong.

Bruce stood from his position at the computer workstation and swiftly met Robin at the 5th step.

"Don't say it," Dick begged, the glassy overcoat of his eyes hinting at his feverishness.

"I won't," Bruce said, "only because you knew it was coming."

Bruce gently lifted the young boy from his bent over position over the step, and pulled his arm over his shoulder. He guided Dick up the stairs before realizing that he wasn't walking at all. Dick had completely succumbed to the warmth of the older man, and was allowing Bruce to bear all his weight as they climbed the stairs.

They halted abruptly halfway up the staircase as Bruce put one arm under Dick's legs, the other under his neck, and proceeded to carry him the rest of the way, looking down briefly to see that the boy had nuzzled his head gently against his chest. He smiled gently as they continued, Bruce making an effort not to make his steps so jolting as to wake the young man.

They met Alfred, carrying a tray of tea and cold medicine, at the foot of the entrance. He gave the two a briefly puzzled look as he pondered what exactly led to this picture, but nonetheless, he ushered the two inside.

"How'd you know?" Bruce questioned.

"I could sense that Master Dick was feeling a bit under the weather, so I've been watching closely the last few days. I just happened to glance at the monitors and the opportune time to see that Master Dick was somewhat, incapacitated."

"You were right," Bruce said, "I'll lay him on the couch."

"And I'll get the fireplace running," Alfred said, following closely behind his two boys.

Dick had been jolted from his slumber as Bruce attempted to lay him. His reflexes from what felt like an impending fall forced his arms around Bruce's neck. They both had to admit that it was the closest the two had ever come to a genuine hug. His eyes were glassy, his skin pale, and his hands ice cold.

Alfred was setting logs in the fireplace as he turned to face Bruce who had just appeared from the far bedroom holding a stack of clothing in his hands. He looked on as he laid the stack on the coffee table, pulled the covers that Alfred had tucked over him down, and sat on the edge of the couch. He helped Dick sit up, and motioned for him to lift his arms as he pulled the top of his suit from him and slid the sweatshirt over his head. It didn't take long for Alfred to realize that Bruce hadn't trekked all the way upstairs to Dick's bedroom to scour for clothes; he instead opted for something much more familiar.

After tucking the sweatshirt firmly around Dick's waist, Bruce proceeded to slip the sweatpants on the young boy.

After his handiwork was finished, Dick was swimming in cloth. It was nearly impossible to find the lad with the size of the clothes he was bearing. Bruce chuckled.

"One day you'll grow into it," he smiled.

"Tea, Sir?" Alfred offered as both men found their places in chairs across the living room.

"Thank you, Alfred," he said, taking the cup into his hands.

They both watched as Dick tossed and turned on the couch, sniffling and coughing into the cushions.

"How'd you know he was sick?" Bruce asked, not taking his eyes from the young frame.

"I believe they call it instinct, Master Bruce," Alfred returned.

"I spent all that time with him on patrol, training, working, and somehow I couldn't sense that he was less that 100%. Doesn't that sound at all selfish to you?" Bruce asked.

"Master Bruce, you've shown more of a father's instinct tonight than I've ever seen in 40 years of being by your side," Alfred assured, "You knew what to do."

Bruce shrugged as he turned to watch the snow fall from the window facing the city. It looked peaceful, and the peace had found it's way to the solomon moving Dick, who'd seemingly finally fell asleep.

"You are a father to that young boy, Bruce. He looks up to you, he feels defended by you, and he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that you will protect him with your last breath," Alfred said, "You are his father."

"Every kid needs to be heard, to be loved and protected. This is the job of a parent, and every kid deserves a parent."

"That are are correct, Master Bruce."

"You don't think I pushed this life onto him?" Bruce questioned.

"No, Master Bruce, I think this life saved him, and I believe that deep down you know that too."

"Fatherhood is an imperfect art, Master Bruce, but look at your son now: calm, asleep, healing in his father's sweatshirt because you knew what to do."

"This, Bruce, is what being a dad is all about."

 **If you like, please leave a review or a PM!**


End file.
